Page 27 of Chasing the Fall

“Of course.”

“Okay, then. That sounds nice. Just let me get some clothes on.” I stand and move toward the bedroom.

“I don’t know; I kinda like the T-shirt.”

“Cretin.”

“Do you really goto the bar on Christmas?”

The small family restaurant Bran took us to is dim and quiet, the wine is tart, and I am mellow. The question slips out before I think about it, and too late I clap a hand over my mouth. “I’msorry. If you’re in a bar on Christmas, you probably don’t want to talk about why.”

Bran shakes his head. “It’s all good. It’s like I said—the Irish are my family now. With my parents gone, it’s just another day.”

I nod and continue eating, already full but determined to eat until my fat pants—i.e., Bran’s sweatpants—pop.

“What are your Christmases like?” He asks.

I chew slowly, considering what to tell him. There are things he likely already knows, just from his association with my cousin.

“You know my father died when I was young, right?”

“Yes…heart attack?”

“Yes. He died on Christmas Day.” I wave away the words of sympathy forming on his lips. “It was a long time ago. The thing was, my mother insisted that his death not ruin the holidays for me. She made sure it was the most special time of the year.”

I don’t see the restaurant around me as I speak; rather, I’m back in my childhood home, helping toss icicles on the tree after decorating it, baking sugar cookies and decorating them, and wrapping a rock for my mom in layer on layer of wrapping paper.

“She did it all,” I say. “She cut pine boughs and gathered holly. Hung mistletoe. Wrapped presents exclusively from Santa. Made Christmas cookies…there was no tradition she didn’tadopt and make her own.” My voice drops to a whisper. “It was truly special.”

“I’m sorry, Tally. I know you miss her.”

A tear gathers in the corner of one eye, and I blink it away. Mom died a couple of years ago, victim of an aneurysm that took everyone around her by surprise. “I do,” I whisper.

“I have an idea,” Bran says. “Let’s get a tree.”

“What?”

“A Christmas tree. With all the bells and whistles, naturally. Let’s get one for the cabin.”

I hesitate. I need to tell him about the elf job. “Can we get one for my house, instead?”

“We need to stay here—”

“We can come back if you think we need to; I promise. I need to go back, though. Just for a day or two.”

“Why?”

“Because I gave my word that I’d play one of Santa’s helper elves at this toy store downtown, and I realized earlier that it’s tomorrow. Black Friday. I can’t leave them hanging.”

“Santa’s helper, huh.” I nod. “Like…for kids?”

I roll my eyes. “No, for fucking grownups. Of course, it’s for kids. I’ve been doing it for years. I can’t let them down.”

He heaves a resigned sigh. “I’m going to say yes, but only because kids are involved. Not because I can’t tell you no.”

I tuck my head so he won’t see my grin. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He looks at his watch. “We’d better get on the road, though, if we’re going to make the drive back.” He looks around for the waitress. “Check, please.”

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